


Nothing Has to Be True

by JadeSabre83



Series: Rhiona's Story [4]
Category: Inbound Flight, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Inbound Flight shenanigans, Plotting with Queenie needs its own tag, References to dub-con, References to nonconsensual medical procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29441259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeSabre83/pseuds/JadeSabre83
Summary: And as the exhaustion takes hold and starts tugging her under, Rhiona finds solace (for the first time since arriving here) in the knowledge that so long as she has Fitaetao, she has hope.Rhiona has a new (and unexpected) ally at the Csoen'ehe'ah'otcahi Genome Research Facility.
Relationships: Rhiona Lascelles (Imperial OC)/Chaf'itaeta'osdec | Fitaetao (Chiss OC)
Series: Rhiona's Story [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158932
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Nothing Has to Be True

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Queenie Chi Cosplay (QueenieWithABeenie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenieWithABeenie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Inbound Flight: For Home and Song](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493898) by [QueenieWithABeenie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenieWithABeenie/pseuds/QueenieWithABeenie). 



> CW: Heavily implied/referenced dub-con.

_ You can tell yourself so many things,  
And nothing has to be true. _

_ —Nothing Has to Be True, _ First Aid Kit

The first time Rhiona meets Chaf'itaeta'osdec she nearly punches him.

Granted, she’s swinging wildly at anyone and anything as they get her strapped down to the bed, but it’s one hell of a way to make a first impression. He easily grabs her fist, like he’s swatting a gnat, but he’s almost...gentle as he places it in the leather restraint. There’s a look bordering on regret on his face, and when she starts begging and pleading in Basic that look morphs into something more complex than she’d expect to see on the face of someone working in this awful place. 

Of course she doesn’t remember any of that when she wakes up in her cell. Just that she’s sore all over and her head is  _ throbbing. _ She does, however, have a vague recollection of the events leading up to her current state. Nothing concrete, just brief flashes of memories; hurling insults in Cheunh, kicking and screaming, strong hands pinning her down. It’s not much, but it’s the most she’s been able to remember since coming here.

Now if she could only figure out where  _ here _ is.

Or why she’s here in the first place.

But right now such thoughts are far too complex to deal with in the face of the utter exhaustion she feels. And that exhaustion—so deep and all encompassing that she can feel it in her bones—is why she doesn’t immediately jump to her feet and make a run for it when the door to her cell opens. She does, however, sit up and scoot back on her bed until she hits the wall (and then wills the wall to swallow her) while getting a good look at the man standing in the doorway.

He’s tall (then again,  _ all _ Chiss are tall, especially in comparison to her), and he’s not dressed like the orderlies or nurses which should be a relief, but instead it only ramps up her paranoia. 

What are they going to do to her now?

“I am checking in for you,” the new guy says as he fully enters her cell. His Basic is broken and heavily accented, but it’s such a relief to hear it all the same that it’s nearly enough to bring tears to her eyes. “I am Doctor Chaf'itaeta'osdec.”

_ Chaf-whatnow? Are all Chiss names such a mouthful? _

She watches him, warily, as he slowly drags a chair over to her bedside, telegraphing his moves as though to not (further) startle her before he sits down. There’s a questis balancing on his knee that otherwise goes ignored as he takes her in. With no mirror in the cell, Rhiona can only wonder what he sees. Whatever it is, it seems to unsettle him, but before he can look away he meets her gaze—

And Rhiona feels like she’s being sucked into a void, able to see everything and nothing all at once. It’s like...it’s like she’s drowning, and she lets out a tiny gasp before flinching and shifting her focus elsewhere. His lips, his forehead, even his nose. Just not his eyes.

The experience leaves her shaken, and she’s only half-way paying attention as he launches into a series of questions. They’re all mostly standard fare, like how are you feeling (tired), did you eat today (yes, if you could call what they’re giving her “food”), are you sleeping well (not really). But it’s the last question that catches her off guard, to the point that he has to repeat himself.

“What am I to be calling you?”

He wants to know her name? She blinks a few times, her mouth opening and closing as she considers the implications behind it. True, he hasn’t done anything to hurt her (yet), but she can’t shake the feeling that she’s seen him before. At any rate, he’s a doctor  _ here, _ and that automatically makes her skeptical of his intentions. And skeptical of him in general. But still...it’s the first time someone has asked her name since Vuiskelisa (and again, there’s that inexplicable  _ pang _ in her heart at thinking about him).

“Rhiona Lascelles.” She glances up to see his mouth trying to work its way around her name and she nearly laughs. “Some of the guards at the prison called me Nala.”

“Nala.” He nods, and there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips that fades so quickly she’s not even certain if she saw it or not. Doctor Fancypants rises from the chair just as the lights start to dim, signaling the end of the day-cycle. He pauses, as though he’s going to say something else before giving a brief shake of his head.

“Wait!” Rhiona calls out to him, making him pause in the doorway. “How long have I been here?”

He glances down at his questis, hesitation written across his face as he silently loses a battle with himself. “One week.”

Rhiona blinks; it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long already, yet it also feels like it’s been much, much longer. She nods after a moment. “Thank you.”

Doctor Fancypants nods once more as he steps out into the corridor, the door closing and locking behind him.

~~~

He comes to check on her every day.

Or at least she  _ thinks _ it’s every day; there’s no real sense of time in this place, and by week three (she asks, and he always tells her how long it’s been) she’s figured out that whatever they do to her in that awful room is messing with her memories. 

But she doesn’t ask what  _ exactly _ they’re doing to her, or why. Nor does she stop fighting back, even when the end result is always the same; thick leather straps holding her down to the bed, followed by waking up back in her cell with every bone and muscle in her body screaming out in agony.

Week three is also when she finally gets in a good swing at one of the orderlies, and though the blow splits the skin on her knuckles it’s worth it.

Doctor Fancypants ( _ Fitaetao) _ tends to her injured hand, changing the bandages every night until it’s healed. She trusts him, now. Trusts him to protect her as much as he can in this horrid place.

Weeks four and five pass by without (much) incident, the two of them doing their best to hold conversations between his broken Basic and her mangled Cheunh. And still, she doesn’t ask why she’s here. Maybe she doesn’t want to know the answer, or maybe she already does and is too afraid to hear it from someone else.

Week six is, quite simply, the worst week here (so far.)

Rhiona wakes up one morning, her underwear and jumpsuit soaked through with blood, and  _ no. _ No. She hasn’t had a monthly cycle since she had her contraceptive implant put in when she was 18, but the accompanying (horrific) cramping sensation can only mean one thing.

_ They took out my implant. _

She doesn’t know when, nor does she want to know  _ why.  _

Somehow Rhiona’s able to explain what’s happening to the nurse when she comes to take her vitals, and the nurse gets Rhiona a clean jumpsuit and supply of sanitary pads. Two days later, in the midst of nausea-inducing cramps and wild mood swings, they take Rhiona to the clinical room for more  _ samples. _

At least Fitaetao is there this time, and she can feel him holding her hand as the sound of the drill approaches her head.

Weeks seven and eight go by in a blur of screaming and struggling, interspersed with late night conversations. And still, she doesn’t ask why she’s here.

Week nine is when she finally breaks down, when she can no longer bear it, and when Fitaetao comes to check on her that night she asks the question. Asks what she did so wrong that she’s here.

His response is...unexpected. He speaks of  _ gifts _ and how she’s a  _ treasure _ , and while she believes him there’s something else to his words. A sense of conflict, as though he’s saying them just as much to convince himself of things as her. 

And while her momma always did say Rhiona had a knack for knowing when people were lying or upset, this goes beyond that. It’s something much more, something  _ deeper. _

Something (more than) slightly terrifying.

But she ignores that, shoving it far aside in favor of focusing on the comforting presence of Fitaetao’s hand on her shin as he sits at her feet on her bed. She moves her hand from the blanket to grab onto his hand, giving it a small squeeze. He returns the squeeze, and they settle into a comfortable silence until he (reluctantly) leaves.

~~~

Rhiona knows they’re coming for her even before she can hear the footsteps.

Just as with last night with Fitaetao, it’s almost as if...as if she can  _ sense _ their emotions. The concept is terrifying in its own right, and Fitaetao’s words replay in her head.

_ You have a great gift... _

Well, if this is a gift, then she doesn’t want it.

The wave of conflicted determination is nearly overwhelming, and Rhiona does something she’s never thought to do since arriving here; she hides under the bed. Of course she knows that it won’t do much in the end, but the momentary flash of confusion when the door to her cell opens is worth it. She hears one of them get on his comm and ask if someone had already fetched her, then twenty seconds later a hand is wrapping around her ankle and tugging her out from under the bed.

She immediately kicks and squirms and screams as the two orderlies get her up off of the floor, but rather than carrying her out into the corridor, they pin her down to the bed. Now it’s her turn to feel a flash of confusion of her own, especially as a nurse approaches. That confusion morphs into terror when Rhiona spots the two syringes held by the nurse, renewing her struggles. 

“No! Please!” Rhiona’s said those words enough that by now they surely must have at least some understanding of their meaning but (as always) they have no effect and she feels the pinch and sting of the needles.

In her experience syringes meant sedatives, so when she doesn’t feel that familiar pull of the drugs and a heaviness in her limbs, her mind starts to race. What did they just give her? What are they going to do to her now?

Rhiona asks as much (in Basic and Cheunh) and the result is the same as her pleas; nothing. The orderlies yank her off the bed and drag her out of her cell, their grips tightening with every twist and turn of her body in her futile attempt to break free. She’s expecting to wind up in the same awful room with the same awful bed with thick leather straps and the same awful medical equipment—

Instead, they pass right by that room and continue down the corridor. They shove her into a different room, one that’s empty save for a single bed, the implications behind such not entirely clear until a moment later when someone else is shoved into the room with her.

That someone else turns out to be a young man, probably not much older than her. And, and...he’s  _ stunning. _ Copper skin, black hair, piercing blue eyes. Eyes that she meets without even thinking, and she feels herself being sucked into a void. But rather than a sensation of drowning, of fear, she feels...comfort. Sameness. 

“Hi. I’m Ezra.” His voice snaps her back to reality. There’s a grin on his face, one that instantly sends a pool of heat to her belly, and—

_ Oh no. _

This  _ has _ to be the effects of whatever they gave her. Rhiona’s never tried illicit drugs before, but she imagines this is what it would feel like, a hunch that’s confirmed when Ezra takes her hand and she gasps at the contact.

“Rhiona.” She grins back at him, overcome with the sudden urge to know what his lips feel like on hers.

He beats her to it, his lips crashing against hers as he starts maneuvering them towards the bed. 

“Did they drug you too?” Ezra asks when they finally come up for air, his hands tracing along the sealing strip of her jumpsuit.

Rhiona nods, her hands following the same path as his, only hers actually unseal his jumpsuit, revealing his bare chest. “It’s like...like I can’t stop myself.” 

Her head is all fuzzy and heavy, her actions not her own as all she feels is an overwhelming sense of  _ need. _

Jumpsuits go flying then, and they collapse onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. 

~~~

The drugs are just starting to wear off when they return her to her cell.

Rhiona feels drained, and empty, and  _ used. _ But not used by Ezra; he’s just as much a victim in this as she is. No, she feels used by the people here, by whoever is in charge. 

Most of all, though, she feels utterly defeated. 

She’s curled up in the corner, legs hugged to her chest, when Fitaetao comes to check on her that evening. It’s not unusual for his arrival to go unacknowledged, but what  _ is _ unusual is the small huff as he lowers himself down to the floor to sit next to her.

“They drugged me, and I...” She chokes out a sob. “They made me...” Another quiet sob as she finds herself unable to say the words  _ they made me have sex with Ezra. _

A long stretch of silence greets her before Fitaetao responds. “I know.” 

There’s that same sense of conflict from him that she felt last night when he told her why she’s here, as though he’s fighting with his own feelings on a constant basis. It hits her, then, that Fitaetao is trapped here too. But beyond that is the realization that he  _ cares _ about her. Deeply. And when he pulls her onto his lap without asking, and she doesn’t offer any resistance, Rhiona knows that feeling is not one-sided.

The tears flow freely down her cheeks as he gently strokes her hair, murmuring words of comfort in Cheunh. She bunches up his shirt in her fist, burying her face in his chest. This is well above and beyond a comforting hand on her shin, but at the moment she’s too caught up in the feeling of being held— _ properly  _ held—for the first time in months to care about the complications or consequences.

“I wanna go home.” She says around a sob, clutching onto him more tightly.

“I know.” He repeats his earlier words, not to placate her, but because he  _ does _ know; Rhiona can feel it.

They stay like that, on the floor with Rhiona on Fitaetao’s lap, well beyond her tears drying up and to the point that she starts drifting off. He shifts her about a moment, then (also with a small huff; she knows how much his joints ache after standing all day) he picks her up and settles her into bed. He even tucks her in, wrapping the blanket tightly around her just the way she likes it, then gently brushes a piece of hair behind her ear before leaving.

And as the exhaustion takes hold and starts tugging her under, Rhiona finds solace (for the first time since arriving here) in the knowledge that so long as she has Fitaetao, she has hope. 


End file.
